


A Golden Celebration

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Fluffiness, Pirate!lock, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Single Parent Sherlock, as usual, goldfish, per usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Gold-themed Sherlolly ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goldfish Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back! Just for a little while to celebrate my Golden Birthday with a week of Gold-Themed Sherlolly fics! I’ll be 25 on the 25th and my gift to myself is diving back into writing FanFiction! There will be one fic a day, ranging from fluff to crack with potential for a dash of angst. 
> 
> Thanks to the lovely Buttercup59 for her encouragement and Beta help! 
> 
> Enjoy this single-dad story, my loves! 

 

The garish colours, crowds of people, and obnoxious sounds and lights were overwhelming and under any other circumstance Sherlock would have turned tail and headed back to the solitude of Baker Street. But he made an exception this once. He smiled. He’d always make an exception for her.

‘Daddy, look!’ Mina squealed and nearly ripped her hand out of his as she lurched forward. Sherlock obediently followed, tightening his grip on her little hand, and let her pull him toward a booth.

Hanging from the rafters in the back of the shooting game were a plethora of plush animals ranging from the size of the spread of his hand to a large panda bear that bore an uncanny resemblance to the Mycroft in his Mind Palace. He sniggered at the thought.

But that wasn’t what had garnered Mina’s attention. No, she was entranced by the round bowls along the back wall, the lights bouncing off the water inside. And swimming back and forth in each bowl were families of shimmering goldfish, their brilliant scales a captivating symphony of light.

‘Daddy, can I get one? Pwease?!’ His sweet, adorable daughter looked up at him with her wide eyes, her cupid’s bow lips pursed in a pout. Sherlock Holmes had taken down London (and most of the UK’s) notorious criminals and was a formidable ally to the side of the angels.

But one three-foot tall, curly-haired ragamuffin reduced him to a puddle of goo between one heartbeat and the next.

He smiled down at her. ‘I suppose. But _you_ have to win it.’

* * *

**2 Minutes Later**

Sherlock strutted proudly down the walkway, Mina on his shoulders, holding her prize in a plastic bag. She prodded at the bag and giggled as the fish curiously bumped her finger in response.

He had watched with pride as she shot the harmless BB gun and didn’t miss a single tin cup, to the shock of the game master.

‘Over there, Daddy!’ Before Sherlock could inquire what she was looking at, Mina had grabbed his hair with her free hand and twisted enough to turn him in the direction she wanted to go.

‘Mina!’ He jostled her a bit in warning.

She shrieked in delight, not at all caring about her ride’s grumpiness. ‘Look, face painting! Can I do that? Pwease?!’

Sherlock looked at the children sitting on the grass as five adults painted rainbows and unicorns and bright coloured animals on their cherub cheeks. A fold-out table held boxes of supplies and a sign taped to the front indicated the painters were volunteers from local businesses.

‘I’m not sure...’

‘But Daddy, didn’t I do so good on the shoot-shoot game?’

Oh, she knew just how to push his buttons. Nothing made him want to spoil her more than when he was inordinately proud of her, whether by making a correct deduction or, as she proved today, by being an expert marksman in a carnival game.

‘Oh, very well then.’

Strolling over, Sherlock swung Mina down and set her on the ground. From behind the table, a woman suddenly popped up, holding a bag of what appeared to be cotton balls up triumphantly. ‘Found them!’

‘Thanks, Molly!’ One of the other women said and held out a bowl containing two lone cotton balls. Molly went around and filled up the workers’ bowls before noticing Sherlock and Mina.

Her face lit up and she skipped up to them.

Before she could open her mouth, Sherlock deduced everything he needed to know about her. 31, single with one cat, from the north and recently moved down to London. Her lips were thin, but her smile was big and her entire face practically glowed. Her hair was silky and brown and pulled back in a high ponytail and her cheeks were flushed from the sun. She wore a handwritten nametag that gave her full name as Molly Hooper, with a childish heart drawn at the end.

She was endearing.

Sherlock scrunched his nose at the sudden thought.

‘Hi there!’ She dropped to her haunches and greeted Mina, almost completely ignoring Sherlock. Mina beamed at her, pleased to be the centre of attention. ‘I’m Molly, what’s your name?’

‘Wilhemina Georgette Holmes,’ Mina declared proudly and stuck out her hand. Molly raised her eyebrows and shook her hand firmly, but gently. Mina held out the bag containing her goldfish. ‘And this is Herman!’

‘Pleased to meet you, Wilhemina Georgette Holmes. And you, Herman.’ Molly greeted them solemnly, but her lips twitched. ‘Did you want to get your face painted today?’

‘Uh-huh, Daddy said I could!’ Mina looked up to her dad as if to prove her point.

Molly followed her gaze and smiled at Sherlock. ‘That’s very nice of him! Now, why don’t you come sit down over here and we’ll get started!’ She led them to an empty space in the shade and sat Mina on a small stool. The little girl settled in happily, letting Sherlock take Herman, who was swimming happily in his bag, and set him on the supplies table. ‘Do you know what you want? Or did you want to look through our little booklet?’

‘A pengwing!’ Mina declared immediately. Molly beamed and dug through a cardboard box filled with plastic packs of face paints, pulling out one with a cartoon penguin sticker on the top.

‘Then a penguin it shall be!’

Mina’s black curls tumbled around her face and Molly produced a clean hair tie from a bag by her feet and swiftly pulled Mina’s hair atop her head in a messy bun.

‘Your curls are beautiful,’ she said. Her gaze flicked up to Sherlock and a twinkle came into her eye. ‘It’s not hard to figure out where you get them from, though I think he could give you a run for your money on keeping them tame.’

Sherlock blinked in surprise. Was this stranger flirting with him? He tilted his head and determined that she was not, her manner sweet and kind, if a bit teasing.

‘My daddy, obviously.’ Mina said and nodded once. ‘He says that his gemeticks are more stronger than my mummy’s. She left when I was born.’

Molly blinked in shock at the abrupt admission.

‘Well,’ she said while dabbing a cleaning solution along Mina’s cheek. ‘There must be some of your mother in you, maybe your nose?’ Mina giggled when she dabbed the cotton ball on her nose.

Molly pulled out a clean brush and opened the compact filled with four different colours: black, white, red, and yellow. ‘Ready, Miss Mina?’

Mina nodded her head solemnly and lifted her chin. After all, this was serious matter. Any rambunctiousness could ruin her face paint!

‘You’re not an artist.’

Molly flinched and almost painted a black streak across his daughter’s face. She frowned, glaring up at Sherlock who had suddenly blurted out his deduction loudly. ‘Thank you for informing me of that fact; I was unaware.’

He blinked at the light, sarcastic tone. Molly returned to her work and, to his surprise, the blob on his daughter’s cheek began to form an image resembling a penguin.

‘No, you’re in a medical field… mmm, pathology, I see.’

Molly’s hand stilled. ‘How did you-?’

‘Daddy’s a ‘tective!’ Mina informed the flabbergasted Molly proudly. ‘He solveds crimes with my Unca John!’

‘Oh, I see. That was very impressive.’ Molly blushed becomingly and, shaking off her surprise, resumed painting Mina’s cheek, adding the final touches to the charming penguin, but directing her words toward the girl’s father. ‘I actually just accepted a position at St. Bart’s, Assistant Head of Pathology, and moved down from Manchester. I officially start next Monday, but thought I’d get involved in the hospital’s volunteer charity work to get to know the city a bit better.’

Sherlock’s eyebrows rose and before he could stop himself, he murmured, ‘Brilliant.’

He immediately cringed, hoping she hadn’t heard, but by the way the red on her cheeks darkened even more, she most definitely had. _Oh, good Lord, I’m turning into John; just blurting out the first thing that comes to mind._

‘No, I-I just meant you’re becoming Assistant Head a-at such a young age,’ he stammered, embarrassed. Molly froze in the process of putting away the paint packet and her head flew up, her eyes widening in surprise. Mina tilted her head back to look at him, a frown on her face and her lips pursed. _Great, now my own daughter is deducing me._ An unfamiliar warmth rose in Sherlock’s face and he realised to his unwitting surprise, that he was blushing.

Molly licked her lips and, keeping her head down, stood to her feet. ‘Erm, thank you. I-it is a great honour; I’m really excited to start.’

Sherlock, the great detective he was, didn’t fail to notice the smile she was trying to suppress. And for the first time in years, he felt his heart race because of something other than a triple homicide.

* * *

Mina looked between her father and Molly. A smile lit up her face as she saw how her father couldn’t look away from the woman and how Molly was bright red and couldn’t look him in the eye. They were acting just like Uncle John and Aunt Mary! (Though Uncle John is almost always the one blushing, even if he wouldn’t admit it!)

Well, if they weren’t going to do anything, then it was up to Mina!

‘Do you paint grown-ups, too, Miss Molly?’

Molly looked down at Mina in surprise. ‘What? Oh, yes, I suppose.’

Mina grinned widely. ‘Then paint my daddy!’

* * *

Molly bit her lip and looked to Sherlock hesitantly. Sherlock stared down at his daughter, immediately deducing what she was doing. She winked up at him and he shook his head with a wry smile. _Cheeky girl._

‘Very well, Miss Molly.’ He held his arms out in defeat. ‘Paint away.’

The pathologist giggled and looked to Mina for direction. ‘What would you like?’

‘Make him a kitty! With whiskers on his cheeks and a black nose!’

Sherlock’s eyes widened in horror while Molly covered her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes wrinkling in mirth. A full-face kitty?! Not a little bee on his cheek, which would have been bearable. No, his little genetic spawn wanted him to be as humbled as possible.

But between Molly’s molten-chocolate eyes sparkling with humour and Mina’s bottom lip, he couldn’t say no.

‘At least make me a fearsome-looking feline,’ he pleaded, dropping to the ground.

‘I shall endeavour to, sir,’ Molly tried to school her features, but was failing miserably. Standing over him, she placed her hands on her hips and looked him over critically before leaning over and wetting a cotton ball with cleaning solution.

‘Ready?’ She asked, hand poised over his cheek.

He made an exaggerated grimace and exhaled loudly. ‘Do your worst, Doctor.’

Her soft laughter sent his heart skittering.

The cold cleaning solution dissipated in the heat of the day and he resisted the urge to itch his tingling skin. Instead, he kept his focus on the woman bending over him. Her hair hung over her shoulder and he found himself entranced by how the sunlight danced across the brown strands, turning them gold and red in a symphony of colours.

_Who knew Sherlock Holmes had a romantic soul?_ The John in his Mind Palace snickered, but Sherlock quickly shut him away.

_This was not such a… horrible idea._ Molly’s deft fingers brushed his face, sending tingles down his spine. She bit her lip in concentration and he found himself admiring the furrow of concentration on her face. She certainly took her artistry seriously. He very much looked forward to seeing how she excelled in her profession; to have earned such a prestigious job at St Bart’s by 31, she was obviously passionate and intelligent.

To his disappointment, she finished the job all too soon and stepped back. Immediately, he had the urge to pull her back and kiss her smirking lips.

Before he could give in to his basic desires, Mina stepped in front of him and cupped his cheeks. ‘Pretty kitty!’

With a mock scowl, Sherlock snuck his hands around her back. Mina dissolved into squeals as he caught her into his arms, tilting her upside down. ‘I am not a tame housecat, little Miss! I am a _wildcat!_ ’

Molly watched on, her bright laughter only adding sunshine to the light feeling in his heart.

Pulling Mina upright, Sherlock held her against his chest and brushed his painted nose against hers, trilling his tongue in a purr. Mina petted his curls. ‘Good kitty cat!’

A sharp pang of disappointment hit Sherlock as he set her down and realised it was getting late and time for them to head home. The other volunteers were starting to pack up the supplies as the sun was setting behind the London skyline.

‘I think it’s time we headed home, Wilhemina,’ Sherlock said, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

Mina screwed her face up in a proper imitation of her Uncle Mycroft’s pout when he is denied cake, but one warning glare from her father and she reluctantly nodded. Trudging over to the table, she picked up Herman and trudged right back.

‘It was very nice to meet you, Mina.’ Molly hunched down onto her heels and held out her hand. Mina ignored the handshake and threw her arms around Molly’s neck, Herman swaying dangerously. ‘Thank you, Miss Molly!’

Surprised at the hug attack, Molly hesitated for a moment, but a smile blossomed on her face as she squeezed Mina affectionately. ‘You’re very welcome, sweetie.’

The girls separated and Molly stood back up, shyly looking at Sherlock. ‘And it was nice to meet you, too…’ She left the end of the sentence hanging, hoping for a name.

‘Sherlock,’ he filled in the blank, extending his hand. ‘Sherlock Holmes.’

She smiled sweetly and slipped her hand in his. Instead of shaking it, Sherlock just held it, feeling the softness of the top compared to the callouses on her palms from holding her medical instruments.

This close, he could see the blush spread down her neck and disappear under her shirt collar. Her pulse beat fast in her throat and she licked her lips. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr Hooper.’

Swallowing thickly, Molly tugged her hand back and self-consciously tucked non-existent flyaways behind her ear. The setting sun cast golden rays across her face and Sherlock found himself speechless, any words he could have said flying right out his Mind Palace’s windows.

The silence stretched on with Mina watching them anxiously, trying to tell her dad without speaking to man-up and kiss the girl! (As Uncle John would say.)

To her great disappointment (and Molly’s), Sherlock abruptly stepped back and reached out for Mina. ‘Well, come on, Mina.’

The little girl rolled her eyes and slumped over to her father. ‘Goodbye, Miss Molly,’ she mumbled and let Sherlock take her hand.

With a firm nod, Sherlock turned around and they walked back toward the main path.

‘Why didn’t you kiss her?’ Mina demanded once they were back in the melee. ‘She was making the googly-eyes! Like Unca John does!’

‘Mina, th-’

‘And you were doing the staring thing that Unca Myc does at Ant-ea!’ Jerking her hand from his, Mina stopped right there in the walkway and crossed her arms, nearly squishing Herman. ‘Why didn’t you _kiss her_?!’

‘Mina,’ Sherlock said softly, hunkering down in front of her. ‘A kiss is something you give to someone you really, really like or someone you love.’

‘But you really, really liked _her_ ,’ she scowled and stomped her foot. ‘I _know_ you did!’

‘Wilhemina,’ Sherlock warned. But before he could do anything further, they heard a shout from the way they’d come.

‘Sherlock!’ They both turned in surprise and Sherlock stood up, his eyes wide. Running down the path, her ponytail flying behind her, was Molly. Breathless, she came to a stop just short of them. Her cheeks were flushed and she radiated nervousness.

‘Molly, what are you-’

‘Do you want to get coffee sometime? With me?’ She blurted all in one breath.

Stunned, Sherlock completely blanked. Blinking rapidly, he tried to coordinate his mouth and his mind.

‘Daddy! Say _yes_!’ Mina demanded and yanked on his arm.

Molly smiled almost painfully at Mina’s exuberance and looked hesitantly at Sherlock, biting her lip.

‘Oh, e-erm, yes, I would like… that,’ Sherlock cleared his throat and managed to unstick his tongue. ‘Yes, I think I would like that very much.’

Immediately the uncertainty cleared from Molly’s face and her smile could have rivalled the sun for brightness. When he didn’t say anything else, she giggled. ‘Do you… want my number or something?’

Sherlock thought for a moment and glanced down at a smugly smiling Mina. ‘Well, if you’d like to join us right now, I was thinking of taking Mina to her favourite cafe. It serves the best coffee and hot chocolate…’

Mina gasped in delight and then smiled excitedly, nodding so fast her curls bounced all around.

Sherlock held out his free hand to Molly. ‘Care to join us?’

Shyly, Molly placed her hand in his. He laced their fingers and he could feel her racing heartbeat and knew that she could feel his own.

And when she softly answered, ‘I’d love to’... it sounded like a promise.

* * *

It wasn’t until their coffees were half-drunk and Mina was falling asleep on Sherlock’s lap, that he remembered his face was painted like a kitty cat.

But all the giggles and stares went right past him. All he saw was Molly’s bright smile and all he heard was her bright laughter and brilliance. If she occasionally laughed a little harder at his morbid jokes because of the face paint, well, that was a merely a bonus in his mind.

And when he finally kissed her, not two weeks later at the end of their fourth date, he thanked God his daughter had insisted on winning that goldfish.


	2. The Pirate's Prize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so not really a gold ‘theme’, but it still makes an appearance. :)

‘Take everything of value – gold, silver, whatever strikes your fancy, boys!’

Sherlock strode across the gangplank to join his men. They scurried about, gleefully obeying his second-in-command, John’s, order. The passengers sat among the crates, too afraid of the swords pointed at them to attempt an escape. The small crew of the passenger ship were tied around the main sail.

_How cliché._ Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s dramatics and dropped down onto the deck. His curls hung loose over his face and his tunic fit tight against his torso, gaping open at the chest. His belt was slung low on his hips, pulling down on the right from the weight of his trusty sword. His black knee boots, a prize from a raid against a slave-trading ship, thudded strongly as he walked across the deck.

The ship itself would have been unremarkable, but for the cargo it carried. No other ship in the East Indies had such precious cargo. And Sherlock was not going to pass up such an opportunity.

While John and the men hurried about, tossing bags and crates of loot over to the _Hudson_ , Sherlock circled around the prisoners, deducing them from the corner of his eye.

Coming to a stop in front of one of the crew, he turned to face the man with a smirk. ‘Hello, Mr Brook.’

‘Captain Holmes,’ the Irish man smiled hollowly, fury flashing in his black eyes. ‘It’s been almost three years, yes? Switzerland, I believe.’

Sherlock hummed in agreement. ‘The top of the Reichenbach Falls, in fact.’ _You walked away thinking you’d destroyed me. But little did you know I survived… and have been tearing down your empire ever since._ Then, he leaned forward to whisper, ‘I know what you stole from me. And I’m here to take it back, _Moriarty_.’

James Moriarty, aka Richard Brook, practically giggled. ‘You think it will be so easy?’

Turning away from the black-hearted deceiver, Sherlock smiled. _Yes, it will be._

‘Back to the ship, boys!’ He bellowed. ‘We’ve got enough!’

John strode up to him. ‘Sherlock, you better grab what you came for. The crew is getting feisty and I reckon Moriarty could get free any time. Makes me wonder why he hasn’t already.’

‘Because, as evil that man is, he knows any wrong move and he’ll have 17 bullets blasting through his body from the gun of every single one of my men. You, included.’

‘Ready, Captain!’ Lestrade shouted from across the way.

Sherlock jerked his head toward the gangplank. ‘On your way, Watson. I’ll be there shortly.’

The last of his men began crossing back over, and shooting him one last dubious look, John followed.

Sherlock grinned. ‘And now, I shall take my portion of this looting and be off. I thank you all for your kindness in letting us divest you of your unnecessary bobbles. I very much doubt you shall even miss them, if your gaudy states of dress are anything to go by.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Captain! Get a move on!’ John bellowed.

‘As much as I would like to stay and further mock your indulgent lifestyles, I must away. But not without my prize.’ Sweeping over to the passengers, he reached down and pulled a lass to her feet. Soft brown hair pulled back in a soft twist, pert nose and fury in her brown eyes, she wore a simple soft pink gown, dotted with flowers.

‘Hello, Molly.’ He smiled.

She yanked her hand from his grasp. He didn’t even have time to react when her other hand flew through the air and slapped him so hard he saw stars.

Stretching his jaw, Sherlock admitted quietly, ‘I probably deserved that.’

‘You deserve a lot worse,’ she hissed. _Oh, how he’d missed her voice these three long years._

‘Well, you’ll have all the time in the world to curse me out, my dear. But right now is not the most convenient of times.’ With that, he took her hand once more and began pulling her toward the gangplank.

‘Let go of me! I’m not going anywhere with you, you-you-you _cad_!’ She shrieked and tried to wrest her hand away. Several of the male passengers stood to defend her, but with a motion as swift as breathing, Sherlock drew his sword on them and halted them in their tracks.

Molly took his moment of brief distraction to duck under his arm and try to run away.

‘Oh no, you don’t!’ He easily caught up with her and, twisting her around, tossed her over his shoulder.

‘Sherlock Holmes, you put me down right this instant!’ She shrieked and pummelled his back with her tiny fists. He tightened his grip on the backs of her legs and sauntered across the gangplank.

Dropping down onto the deck of the _Hudson_ , he turned around and sent a salute to the now-scrambling crew of the passenger ship.

‘You jammed their rudder, of course.’ Sherlock said as John stepped up to his side.

‘Of course,’ the blond smirked. ‘They’ll be on their way in… oh, about three hours. And we have all the evidence we need; Moriarty will be hanging from the gallows by this time tomorrow.’

‘Sherlock, let me go!’ Molly shrieked, only to continue to be ignored.

Chuckling, Sherlock turned about to face his bemused crew. ‘Weigh anchor!’

Immediately, they scattered and in less than a minute, they were on their way, leaving Moriarty’s smuggling vessel on the horizon.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he nodded to John. ‘I’ve got a situation to deal with.’

John raised his eyebrows. ‘I’d say so.’

Striding toward the rear of the ship, Sherlock ducked into the Captain’s quarters and gently lowered his burden to the large bed that dominated the cabin.

Her hair had come loose from its twist and fell softly around her flushed face. She was breathing heavily, angrily, making her corseted chest rise and fall rapidly. Tears marked her cheeks and filled her eyes.

They stared at each other in silence, both daring the other to speak first. Unable to bear it, Sherlock knelt down in front of her.

‘Molly, I realise this was not-’

‘Oh, shut up!’ She declared and threw her arms around his shoulders, crashing her lips to his. Sherlock nearly toppled backwards from the force of it. Catching her around the waist, he sank into the kiss, reacquainting himself with the feel of her in his arms and the warmth of her lips as she deepened the kiss.

Breaking away with panting breaths, he rested his head in the curve of her neck and tried not to tremble. ‘God, I’ve missed you.’

Her soft laughter washed over him and he pulled back, taking in her smiling face.

‘Only you would die a detective and come back a pirate, Sherlock Holmes.’

‘You’re… not angry with me?’ He asked her in bemusement.

She cupped his cheeks and traced his cheekbones reverently. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am absolutely _furious_ with you. But I’ve spent the last three years believing my husband was dead; I’m not going to waste another minute being angry with you. That will keep for later.’

Joy bloomed in his chest and he surged up to kiss her breathless once more.

* * *

***Some time later***

Wrapped in the tangled sheets, Molly rested between her husband’s bare legs, dressed only in his black tunic, with his arms looped around her waist and his lips nuzzling her neck.

His hand slid up her body to trace the necklace she still wore, lifting up the ring that rested between her breasts.

‘You kept it all this time?’ He asked in wonder.

Nestling back against him, she smiled as she looked at the simple gold band. ‘Of course I did, my love.’

‘I don’t deserve you.’

With a frown, Molly tilted her head to look up at him. He wouldn’t look at her, so she reached up and cupped his cheek and turned his face until his eyes finally met hers.

‘Don’t ever think that,’ she scolded him softly. She pressed a kiss to his stubbly chin and rested her forehead against his cheek, closing her eyes. ‘I love you so much, Sherlock. When I thought you’d…’

‘I did it for you, Molly. To keep you safe.’

There would be time for explanations later, but right now, she had her husband back. And that was all that mattered to her.

‘Put it on me?’

She pulled back and looked up at him expectantly, a radiant smile on her face.

With an answering smile, Sherlock slipped the ring from the chain and lifted her left hand to his lips, kissing each finger tenderly.

‘I love you, Molly Holmes.’ He whispered, sliding the ring onto her bare finger.

‘And I you, my beloved Pirate.’


	3. A Vehicular Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this was fun to write. :) 
> 
> A million thanks and hugs to @buttercup59 for being the best Beta a girl could ask for! All mistakes are mine.

 

It had been a long day. Four autopsies with paperwork led to an extra hour tacked onto the end of her already extra-long, twelve-hour night shift. It was days like this when Molly was especially glad she’d bought a car. Dealing with the morning rush on the tube was the last thing she wanted to face.

It was only a ten-minute drive and she was daydreaming, at a red light not far from her flat, of a long, luxurious bath and her bed, when the passenger door was suddenly yanked open and a mass of black wool collapsed inside.

Molly shrieked in surprise and looked over, coming nose-to-nose with a sweaty, panting Sherlock Holmes.

‘Drive!’ He barked breathlessly and slammed the door shut, tossing a black briefcase into the back seat which clanged heavily and ominously.

The light changed, but Molly hesitated. The car behind her honked impatiently.

He twisted around to look out the back and then swung around, pounding on the dashboard. ‘ _Now!_ ’ His bellow was punctuated by three gunshots, the sound of bullets slicing through the rear bumper breaking Molly out of her shock.

In a heartbeat, all the training came flying to the front of her mind.

Shifting viciously, she pressed the gas and released the clutch in a flurry of smoke, the smell of burning rubber following them as they flew through the intersection.

‘What the _hell_ is going on, Sherlock?’ She shouted, weaving through traffic.

He ignored her, having pulled out his phone. He fumbled with it as he glanced back over his shoulder and placed it to his ear. Molly looked back and instantly regretted it. Three men on motorcycles, dressed in black leather, were gaining on them. But it was the semi-automatics they were pointing at her little blue car that caused her heart to skip a beat.

_Get out of the line of fire!_

Seeing an opportunity ahead, she made a risky move and jerked the wheel all the way to the right. Sherlock slid into her with a surprised shout. Molly ignored his shocked expression and shifted, pressing the pedal to the floor and shifting as she straightened them out and flew down the side street.

Behind them, the three men sped past, but the sound of honking horns alerted Molly that they would not be far behind once more.

Mentally drawing up her map of London, as well as the expected traffic patterns, Molly quickly traced the fastest route to Scotland Yard.

‘...and _I_ told you the drop was today!’ Sherlock bellowed into the speaker. ‘Honestly, Graham, if you’re what passes for a DI these days, we may as well hand England over to the gangs!’

Molly resisted the urge to look over at him and concentrated on the road. Horns blared at them as she cut people off, screeching through lights and barely managing to avoid getting hit.

The motorcycles were gaining and the leader was close enough that Molly could see the sun glinting off the barrel of his gun. Suddenly, a loud shot sounded and her right side mirror was gone in a shattering of glass and metal.

‘Almost there,’ she gritted her teeth and pressed on. Beside her, Sherlock had finished his call to who she assumed to be Greg Lestrade and tossed the phone to the floor and grabbed the handle above him, his other hand braced against the dashboard.

‘You’re heading for Scotland Yard. Excellent,’ he said calmly, as if he hadn’t brought three gun-toting criminals to her doorstep (figuratively speaking, of course).

‘You hop into my car at a traffic stop in a hail of gunfire with a briefcase you appear to have stolen from some angry criminals and you think I’d take you on a nice country constitutional?’ Molly risked shooting him an incredulous look. ‘ _Of course I’m bloody going to Scotland Yard!_ ’

He smirked.

With too much distance left to go, the motorcyclists were almost upon them. Molly clenched the wheel and tried to think of a way out of this predicament.

‘Turn here!’ Sherlock pointed toward an oncoming side street, just as she shifted gears and swung them around.

‘Already ahead of you!’ Her car shuddered as they fishtailed to a chorus of horns. But they lost the motorcyclists for a moment, enough time for Molly to take the next street and discover a squadron of police cars blocking the road, no less than three dozen coppers hiding behind their open doors with their guns pointed directly at her little blue car.

Immediately, she jerked the wheel to the side and slammed on the brakes. Their momentum carried them and the acrid smell of burning rubber brought tears to her eyes, but she shut them tightly, praying that the car didn’t flip over.

With a teeth-jarring crash, the back of the car crashed into the front of one of the police cars, effectively bringing it to a halt. In the silence that briefly followed, Molly acutely felt the painful pounding of her heart against her ribs, the sound of her laboured breathing, and the breathless laughter of the man beside her.

Opening her eyes, she gaped up at him. His shoulders began to shake and he dropped his head back as he properly laughed, his smile wide and his eyes crinkled in mirth.

Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline, or maybe she’d hit her head on the steering wheel at some point, but Molly found herself smiling, then laughing along with him, tears pouring down her cheeks.

The moment was interrupted when a familiar voice shouted, ‘Sherlock Holmes, what in _God’s name_ have you done?!’

Like a switch had been flipped, Sherlock stopped laughing and rolled his eyes, throwing open the door and pulling himself out of the car. Molly wiped her face and went to open her door when it swung open and she came face to face with Greg Lestrade.

‘Molly?!’ He blurted out in shock.

‘Hey, Greg,’ she waved and unbuckled herself.

Stepping out, she looked around at the scene. The three motorcyclists were face down on the ground, cuffed with half a dozen guns trained on them. Cops were crawling all over the area, examining her car, corralling the watching crowd, taking notes.

‘Molly Hooper,’ a hand flashed in front of her face and she blinked, turning to find Greg watching her. He placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled that warm, boyish grin of his. ‘Nice manoeuvring especially with this prat in the front seat. But how in God’s name did you get roped into this?!’

‘I’m afraid that was my fault, Grisham,’ Sherlock sneered, pulling the briefcase from the back seat and inserting himself between Molly and the DI. ‘Molly happened to be in the exact right place when I needed a quick escape.’

With a flourish, he popped open the briefcase and spun it to face them. Two layers of thick, gold bricks shimmered in the sun.

Molly leaned over to gape at the bounty. There was probably more money in that small case of gold than she would ever make in a lifetime.

‘I think you’ll find this all the evidence you need.’ Sherlock snapped the case shut and held it out to Greg. ‘Which you would have had an hour ago, if you idiots had listened to me from the start.’

‘Paperwork, Sherlock,’ Greg muttered and took the case, handing it over to a passing Sergeant. ‘Law and order is, unfortunately, less about action and more about protecting our asses in case things go south. Makes for a crappy justice system.’

‘Mmm,’ Sherlock sniffed derisively. ‘Boring.’

‘Boring it may be, Sherlock, but it is the law-’

Greg’s rant was largely ignored as Sherlock turned to Molly. Greg rolled his eyes and walked away when he realised his words were falling on deaf ears. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and deduced the deceptively innocent-looking Molly. ‘When did you receive defensive driving training? By your skill set, I know it was not one of Scotland Yard’s pathetic classes. No, you exhibited excellent reflexes, made snap decisions, executed risky manoeuvres that show practiced skill. But why? Not for your job. Not for fun, either…. No, you learned how in order to protect yourself.’ His frown softened in understanding. ‘In case Moriarty retaliated. The only question that remains is who… taught… you…’ Realisation dawned with growing horror on Sherlock’s face. ‘ _Mycroft…_ ’

Molly smiled sweetly, if a bit triumphantly. ‘Apparently, I bested your score. Not one obstacle hit _and_ I beat your time by 0.76 seconds.’

‘The MI6 field test,’ Sherlock said, his eyes wide with surprise. ‘No one has managed to surpass my score in two decades.’

Molly leaned forward, a twinkle in her eye. ‘And on my first try, too.’

With a bold wink, she walked around him toward the officers examining her little blue car. Sherlock turned to watch her walk away, baffled and pleased to discover yet another facet of the pathologist. Just when he thought he had her figured out, she did something that knocked him completely for a loop.

A grin creased his face and he found himself walking after her.

Suddenly, he was in the mood for coffee.


	4. A Mark of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What kind of fic-a-thon would this be without a Soulmate fic? :)
> 
> This begins during That Christmas. Enjoy, my loves! 

The silence was deafening, condemning.

Sherlock stepped forward, hesitating for a moment as the thought that maybe what he was about to do would lead her on, but then went through with it nonetheless.

Bending down, he whispered, ‘Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.’

Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes, no doubt knowing what he intended to do. But just before his lips could touch her cheek, his eyes were drawn to a small marking on her neck.

He froze and hissed in a breath.

How had he not noticed it before? She wore her hair up all the time. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her with it down. And yet, he’d never noticed it. Just below her left ear, the innocuous mark shaped like an atom that meant nothing to anyone else… but to her and one other person. Her soulmate. The person who had the same mark below their left ear.

The same mark that Sherlock had hidden under an expensive, black market concealer.

Immediately, he pulled back, unsure what to do. He didn’t need a soulmate, he didn’t want a soulmate, but suddenly he’d found her. And a kiss, no matter how innocent, would unveil their soul-connection.

His quandary, however, was solved for him.

_*erotic breath* aaaaah_

Molly blushed a deep red and her eyes flew open wide. ‘N-no, that wasn’t me!’

Sherlock pulled the phone from his pocket and waved it to their audience. Later he would handle the situation of Molly Hooper being his soul mate. But right now, he had other more pressing matters to deal with.

* * *

**Three Years Later**

‘Ice cream and crap telly?’ Molly called from the kitchen.

Tom plopped down on the couch with a sigh. ‘Make mine chocolate and we can watch whatever the hell you want.’

Molly laughed and came into the room with two heaping bowls of the dessert, handing the bigger portion to him. ‘Long day?

‘You’ve no idea, kid.’ He muttered, abandoning his British accent for his natural Boston twang, and practically inhaled the ice cream.

‘Whoa there, Sam,’ she giggled as he cringed from brain freeze.

He peeked at her through pain-filled eyes. ‘Must you call me Sam?’

Molly shrugged and licked her spoon clean. ‘You won’t tell me your real name and Tom is just a cover… Secret Agent Man is a bit of a mouthful, so Sam it is!’

He rolled his eyes fondly and resumed eating his ice cream, though at a more reasonable rate.

They were three shows in when Molly finally turned the telly off with a sigh.

‘Molly?’ Sam looked at his charge in concern. Over the past six months, he’d become fond of the pathologist and took his body-guarding duties seriously, while Mycroft tried to keep a lid on a burgeoning threat from a new Moriarty. Though playing the simple-minded fiancé was tiring and a little bit damaging to his ego.

He’d watched as she struggled with the knowledge of Sherlock’s survival of the fall, but then being stuck in a limbo of not knowing whether he was dead or alive for the better part of two years. And now the great detective was back, Sam had been sure she would liven up. But instead, she’d drawn into herself all the more, plastering on a fake smile when it suited and convincing everyone else she was fine. But spending most of his days with her, when he wasn’t relieved from his duties by M himself, he’d seen sorrow and sadness burden her, drowning her in their black aura.

‘It’s nothing, Sam,’ she waved him off half-heartedly and made to stand and bring the dishes into the kitchen.

Sam caught her wrist and tugged her back down to the sofa. ‘Molls, something happened today. If you need to talk to someone…’ He left his invitation open ended.

Licking her lips, Molly looked down at her hands and exhaled softly. ‘Meena met her soulmate today.’

Sam closed his eyes. ‘Ah.’

Tears filled her eyes and she unconsciously reached up to touch the mark on her neck. ‘I just… I’m worried I’ll never meet mine.’

Sam had promised himself never to get emotionally attached to someone he was protecting; it would inevitably end in either mutual heartbreak when he disappeared or their death and he’d have to live with the knowledge he’d lost someone he cared about. But Molly, sweet, unassuming, Molly had broken down his defences and he thought of her as a dear friend, almost a sister. She had a heart as big as London and she wore it on her sleeve unashamedly. And watching her pine for the missing piece of her soul was killing him inside. She deserved someone who loved her and adored her, who would fill that lonely void inside her.

Knowing words would only be empty platitudes, Sam opened his arms and let her curl into his embrace. She sniffled and he rubbed her arm soothingly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

_I’m sorry, kid._

* * *

_Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes._

Gasping, Sherlock’s eyes flew open. His senses were overwhelmed by the strangeness surrounding him: the white ceiling, the bitter smell of hospital cleaner, the soft footfalls made by nurses as they passed his room…

‘Welcome back, brother mine.’ Mycroft stepped up to his bedside and looked down on him. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and ran his gaze over the older man.

‘Three days at my bedside, Mykie? You need a bath.’ He wrinkled his nose in exaggeration, ignoring the warmth suffusing his chest in relief. He’d survived. Two weeks as a prisoner, having been captured during a momentary lapse in concentration, and he estimated he would have lasted another 4 days at best. And Mycroft had found him. By how easily he’d taken over the underground camp, Sherlock deduced Mycroft had to have begun his infiltration at least three months before. He blatantly ignored the rush of brotherly affection that followed that thought.

‘Four bruised ribs, a concussion, and multiple other contusions…’ Mycroft listed off his injuries coldly, but Sherlock could see the worry in the line of his brother’s brow.

Sherlock shifted and winced. ‘I’ve had worse.’

‘Honestly, Sherlock. To worry Mummy like that… tsk tsk.’ A wry smile pulled at Mycroft’s lip. ‘You’ll have to see at least a dozen West End plays to get back in her good graces.’

‘I’m her favourite, I doubt she will hold me to that.’

Mycroft harrumphed. ‘Enough of that. Down to business; you’re needed back in London.’

‘Obviously. Tell me the case and I’ll determine if it’s even worth my time.’

And just like that, the Holmes brothers were back to normal.

* * *

**One Week Later**

Sherlock strode through the dark halls of St Bart’s not an hour after his plane landed in London. Molly’s shift ended five minutes before and it was time. Time to acknowledge what he’d denied for so long.

He’d spent the last two years alone, not knowing if he’d ever see her again. And it was in those lonely nights that he realised the gift he’d been given. A soulmate who was strong, brave, and endlessly kind. She helped him in his darkest hour, selflessly giving all she could to save him.

He loved her.

And it only took him dying to realise it.

Standing outside the doctors’ locker room, he took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Molly stood on the other side of the room, her back to the door. Her hair was piled into a high ponytail and she still wore her lab coat. Sherlock waited for her to notice him. She swung open her locker and flinched, seeing Sherlock’s reflection in the inside mirror. Spinning around, she sucked in a breath before a smile broke across her face.

‘Sherlock!’

Before he could stop her, brace himself, or even think, she’d raced across the room and thrown herself at him in a full body hug. He covered the grunt of pain with a gruff, ‘Hello, Molly.’

‘You’re back? Are you back for real? Does John know? Is Moriarty’s network finished for good? Oh, I don’t care, it’s just so good to see you!’ She pulled away, her eyes shining with joyful tears. Then it was as if time itself slowed to a crawl. Lifting her chin, she raised herself onto her toes, and brushed her lips against his cheek. In reality, the kiss lasted less than a second, just a peck. But for that split second, he captured the feeling of her in his arms. Her softness, her scent, the warmth of her body, the feel of her kiss.

Because as soon as it ended, everything changed.

She stiffened in his arms and pulled back.

The mark on his neck tingled and he watched as her own mark began to shimmer. Her gaze dropped to his neck, to his no longer concealed mark, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Their circular marks, a dull black, slowly changed to a brilliant gold. A warmth filled his entire being.

He was finally complete.

Molly gaped at his neck, shock and disbelief writ on her face. She hesitantly reached up and touched his Mark. Her touch sent a rippling wave of warmth through his body.

‘Y-you’re my…’ She looked up at him in awe.

Sherlock smiled softly. ‘Indeed.’

Her brow furrowed. ‘You’re… you’re not surprised.’

A sinking feeling came over him. ‘No. I knew.’

Molly slid her hands down his arms and stepped out of his embrace. ‘You knew. And you didn’t say anything?’

Sherlock’s silence answered for him.

Tears filled her eyes.

‘Why?’

‘I didn’t want a soulmate.’

Hurt crossed her face and Sherlock quickly continued. ‘But that was before. I didn’t want to hurt you, I thought if you didn’t know and I had died while I was away, it wouldn’t be as hard.

She knew him better than he thought, her sad face hardened with anger. ‘You knew before that, though.’

An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach. _Ah, shame._

‘That’s why you didn’t kiss me that Christmas. You saw my mark and realised who I was to you.’ She turned her head away. ‘I always wondered… but thought it was just my imagination wanting you to kiss me.’

His silence condemned him.

‘And then,’ Sherlock grimaced as she continued, her voice stronger and angrier as the pieces fell into place, ‘you played off my feelings for you, you knew that we had a connection, a tentative one since we hadn’t kissed, but a connection nonetheless. You played me and used it to your advantage.’

Sorrow flashed across Sherlock’s face. His initial reaction was to deny it, but the truth stilled his tongue. ‘I am so, so sorry.’

She glared at him, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. Sherlock’s heart pounded in anxious anticipation. _Please forgive me. Please…_

His heart fell when she pulled her hand away and stepped back.

‘I don’t know what to think right now, Sherlock. I just… I can’t believe…’

‘Molly,’ he moved toward her, but she raised her hand to stop him.

‘I need some time,’ she breathed. Before he could say anything, she whirled away and rushed out the door.

* * *

Sam didn’t know what he had expected when he received the news from his superiors that Sherlock would be returning. Of course he knew that his position as Molly’s bodyguard would remain until all of Moriarty’s web was dismantled entirely; Sherlock had left a few loose ends that Mycroft’s special forces team would handle.

But he fully expected Molly to take the news with relief, happiness, or some other positive emotion.

What he hadn’t seen coming was the cryptic text from Molly’s day-guard, Colm, saying **Thar she blows** , just before an irate, tear-streaked Molly burst into the flat, slamming the door behind her, and blowing right past him to bang around in the kitchen.

‘-bloody arsehole, thinks he can have me whenever it suits his fancy, never mind _my_ feelings, _oh no!_ Arrogant prick!’

Sam’s eyes widened at the normally meek Molly biting out such frustration, fury in the very way she held herself.

‘Molly?’ He tentatively entered the war zone of the kitchen.

Either she didn’t hear him or was choosing to ignore his very presence, but Molly didn’t turn around, continuing to verbally tear apart whom he could only assume was Sherlock Holmes.

He was about to send a text to Colm and find out what happened, when she moved to grab her ‘bad day’ wine from the highest cabinet shelf and turned her head.

There, shining brilliantly in the dim, fluorescent light of the kitchen, was Molly’s mark. And the gold shimmer of a connection made was unmistakable.

‘Oh. My. God.’ The corner of his mouth turned up as the pieces fell perfectly into place.

‘If you so much as say his name, Sam, I will sic Mycroft on you in an instant.’ Molly snapped without even turning around. Apparently she hadn’t been ignoring him entirely then.

Raising his hands in surrender, Sam backed out and left her to her rampage.

Sherlock Holmes was Molly’s soulmate. Had Molly not been so angry, the situation would have been almost comical.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to see a message from Mycroft.

**My idiot of a brother is en route. Maintain guard status, but do not interfere.**

‘Bloody hell,’ Sam bit out. Molly was in a full-on strop and that git wouldn’t even give her time to cool down. Quickly scanning the room, he determined there were no fatal projectiles that could be thrown about.

Thunderous footsteps sounded from down the hall and, without so much as a knock or a by-your-leave, the door was flung open.

_Do not interfere, my ass!_

Sam could blame his reflexes on 15 years of training under MI6’s best agents, but as he cocked the hammer back on the gun he’d whipped from its hidden holster, he admitted to himself that pointing his gun on Sherlock Holmes was a tiny bit satisfying. Oh, he had no intention of shooting the man. But the split second of surprise in the other man’s eyes was enough.

* * *

Sherlock looked over the lanky man standing in Molly’s living room. He bore a resemblance to Sherlock, but his brown curls were clearly permed and he wore an ill-fitting suit that did nothing for his tall frame.

For an instant, Sherlock saw red; Molly had a live-in boyfriend, a poor copy of Sherlock, who had a serious case of paranoia.

But then the deductions flooded in. Not Molly’s boyfriend, going by the way he held himself and the confidence in his stance, as he levelled the barrel of the gun at Sherlock’s heart. American, East Coast, unMarked. The suit was tailored specifically to appear ill-fitting, but in reality hid a side holster and a pistol on his left ankle.

**Bodyguard**

‘I see Mycroft has been meddling, as usual,’ Sherlock sneered.

The man’s aim didn’t even waver, but a smirk appeared on his face. From the kitchen came the pop of a cork being pulled out of a bottle and Sherlock turned expectantly toward the sound.

A distraction that proved to be rather painful.

Suddenly, his head was knocked back and pain rocketed through his face, dropping him to the ground in one fell swoop.

When the stars stopped dancing in front of his eyes, Sherlock rubbed his jaw and glared up at the agent, who was full-on smirking now, his gun tucked away in its hiding place.

‘Mr Holmes, a pleasure to meet you.’

Sherlock ignored the proffered hand and awkwardly stood to his feet. ‘I can’t say the same.’

Just then, Molly stepped out of the kitchen, a bottle of wine, a tub of chocolate ice cream, and three bags of crisps in her arms. They both turned toward her and she froze in surprise at the sight of Sherlock standing there, sporting a fist-sized red print on his cheek.

Her face was tear-streaked, sadness and anger radiating off of her. Guilt fell heavy in Sherlock’s gut. He had to fix this.

‘Molly,’ Sherlock stepped toward her, his heart falling when she took a step back.

‘Go away, Sherlock,’ she snapped. Her face flushed red and she sent an icy glare toward the agent. ‘If you wouldn’t mind seeing the detective to the door, Sam. And I’d appreciate you not letting the _unseemly_ part of London into my living room.’

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her with her foot.

An uncomfortable silence descended in her wake. Sherlock stared at the door separating him from his soulmate, longing to go in there and fix his mistake.

‘Come on, man,’ _Sam_ slapped Sherlock on the back and reached behind him to open the door. ‘Give her some time to cool down and she’ll come around.’

Sherlock angrily shrugged off the American’s hand and made to move toward Molly’s bedroom. Suddenly, his legs were kicked out from under him and he fell face first into the carpet.

A knee planted in his back kept him down and Sam leaned down to speak directly into his ear. ‘I believe the lady said for you to leave. You can either walk out the door or Big Brother can find you in the dumpster five floors down, just out the living room window. Your choice, Mr Holmes.’

Sherlock struggled against the agent’s hold, but to no avail. Finally, in defeat, he relaxed and nodded.

Sam slowly moved off him and watched as the detective took a deep breath and pushed himself up. With a pain-filled look of longing toward the closed bedroom door, hoping against hope that Molly would come back out, Sherlock left the flat.

She had put up with so much from him.

The least he could do is give her time.

Even if every second away from her killed him inside little by little.

* * *

**Five Days Later**

The chill of winter was in the air and boredom was quickly setting in. Having solved the terrorist threat he’d been called back to London for and re-establishing his friendship with a still very-much ticked off John, Sherlock was finding it difficult to settle back into his old life.

The media roar was still in full force and he was avoiding too many public appearances, lest someone uncover that the great Consulting Detective had found his soulmate. That was something he wanted to keep quiet for as long as possible, in order to protect Molly.

Molly.

Had he known how deep an ache her absence would make, he’d never have left on his mission. That pain was only second to the gut-churning loneliness that he felt now, with their tenuous connection on the edge.

He hadn’t seen her since that day in her flat. Mycroft kept him informed of her comings and goings. She had taken off from work and hadn’t ventured out of her flat except for a single trip to the shop.

And she had made no attempt to reach out to him.

Huffing, Sherlock shifted in his chair, unable to find a comfortable position to think. Swinging around, he manoeuvred himself so that his legs draped over the back of the chair and his head hung upside-down, his curls brushing the floor.

_Much better._ Closing his eyes, he fell into his Mind Palace.

It was there he stayed for the next three hours.

And it was in that position that Molly found him.

* * *

**Earlier That Day**

Curled up on her sofa, Molly stared blankly at the telly.

Sam walked in and, seeing her in the same state he’d left her in eight hours before, dropped his cover’s briefcase and slammed the door shut.

Molly flinched and glared at him.

‘Enough, Molly,’ Sam said firmly. Shedding his suit coat, he placed his hands on his hips. ‘I get that you’re pissed off at the git. You have every right to be.’

She eyed him warily as he walked over and sat onto the coffee table in front of her.

‘But he’s your soulmate, love.’ He lowered his voice and brushed a stray hair from her face. ‘Both of you are miserable and the only way to move on is to forgive him.’

A tear escaped. ‘He lied to me…’

Sam’s face fell in sympathy. ‘I know. But I don’t think he’s that man anymore. If you could have seen the way he looked at you. Molly, that man, soulmate or not, would move heaven and earth to undo all that.’

‘Really?’ Her dubious whisper was tinged with hope.

‘Really.’ Sam smiled. ‘Now, are you going to get up off that hideous couch and kiss that man senseless or what?’

* * *

‘Sherlock.’ The familiar voice that called to him was distant, faint, and sweet. It echoed in his Mind Palace halls, dragging him from his thoughts.

Opening his eyes, Sherlock stared at the upside down Molly standing over him.

Molly?

Molly!

Scrambling, he tried to right himself and stand up, but somewhere in the process he lost his balance and went tumbling into Molly. Her small frame was no match for his muscular weight and they toppled to the floor, Sherlock landing on top of her with a grunt. Her breath wooshed out of her and tears sprung to her eyes.

‘Molly! Oh _god_ , are you all right?’ Sherlock hastened to move off her. She coughed and took a couple deep breaths, but nodded affirmatively.

Standing up, Sherlock reached down and helped her to her feet. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She waved him off with a feeble laugh. ‘It’s okay,’ she said hoarsely.

_All I do is hurt her_. The guilt was pouring off of him in waves and he couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. _She’s come here to let me down, tell me that the universe made a mistake. Which obviously it did. Who would pair an angel with a heartless machine?_

‘Sherlock, look at me,’ Molly’s voice broke through. He raised his gaze to find her smiling at him. She cupped his cheek and raised herself up to press a kiss to his lips. Shocked, Sherlock froze.

Was this her way of saying goodbye? Rather cruel for such a usually kind person.

‘I’m not saying goodbye.’ She playfully punched his chest and he blushed, realising he’d said that last bit out loud. She ducked her head and bit her lip. ‘I was trying to say… that is…’

Sherlock, deductive genius that he was, settled his hand on her back and tugged her just a bit closer.

She took a deep breath and looked him deep in the eyes. ‘I forgive you.’

_She… what?_

Sherlock stared at her dumbly.

‘Sherlock?’

He blinked. ‘So you’re… not mad?’

‘I’m still a bit mad, to be honest.’

‘I thought you forgave me?’

Molly smiled softly and shook her head. ‘I can forgive you and still be a little bit mad,’ she reasoned. ‘But I love you and I’d rather be with you and a little angry right now than spend another day without you.’

Sherlock swallowed thickly, warmth flooding his chest. ‘I love you, too.’

‘Then kiss me, you idiot.’

And so he did.


	5. A Crown of Gold

She was walking through the gardens again, picking a bouquet of the best flowers, no doubt to give to someone who had fallen ill. Her soft yellow gown, tied at the waist by a white ribbon, was plain and simple compared to the elaborate dresses the courtesans wore. Yet somehow, that made it all the more beautiful. Her hair was plaited in a loose braid, soft tendrils caressing her face and neck, brushing against her skin with the breeze. Even from his place at the window, he could see them move and felt their phantom touch against his fingertips.

The only adornment she wore, aside from the gaudy ruby ring on her finger identifying her as his wife, was the gold circlet on her head, woven throughout her tresses. Gold strands looped down and back, sparkling in the sun and setting off the hints of red in her hair.

Margaret, _Molly_ , had been a reluctant Princess. Their marriage had been arranged for them by his late parents, who had hoped to see his ways settled by a good woman. She was kind and gentle, but he could see the spark of curiosity and intelligence in her eyes. She listened when he spoke of science, not out of wifely duties, but because she was genuinely interested. She questioned him and challenged him, often leading their discussions into good-natured debates.

When both his parents passed suddenly, just shy of three months past and not quite a year after his wedding, she had accepted the title of Queen with grace and humility. By then, she had endeared herself to the people, becoming beloved and adored by all. Her kindness and compassion were the perfect complement to his brashness.

Just then, a young girl ran around the hedge and directly into the Queen's path. Immediately, the girl's face broke into a wreath of smiles. Molly bent down and said something to which the child nodded eagerly. Plucking a yellow flower from her bouquet, Molly slid it behind the girl's ear. The girl flung her arms around Molly's neck before running around her toward the palace.

Molly stood and turned to watch the girl leave, a soft smile on her face. Her eyes wandered upward and she caught his gaze. Her smile didn't fade, but a pleasing blush stained her cheeks and she waved her fingers in a small greeting.

He nodded in answer.

Ducking her head, she turned around and resumed her walk.

Suddenly, he was aware of his racing heart, dry mouth, sweaty palms, and the empty feeling in his arms.

Could it be?

Was he falling for his wife?

* * *

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Molly tried to ignore the weight of her husband's gaze upon her back. He was a mysterious man, brilliant and often chaotic, but a wise and fair ruler. It wasn't hard to fall in love with him.

And oh, how she longed for him to love her back.

So lost in her thoughts was she that she failed to hear the sound of approaching footsteps on the gravel path until a shadow fell over her.

She turned in surprise to see Sherlock standing behind her.

'May I join you?'

His black curls were mussed and he kept his features schooled, but Molly could see the uncertainty in his gaze. This man who held the power of war at his fingertips, who ruled the nation with a firm and fair hand, was nervous?

Why would he be nervous?

Unless…

Oh, but the thought was too fantastic. He couldn't possibly… could he?

Hope bloomed in her heart at the look in his eyes and she dipped her head to hide her smile. 'I'd be delighted.'

His nervousness faded and an answering smile creased his face.

'Shall we?' He gestured toward the path ahead and together they strolled leisurely through the gardens.

And at some point, neither knew nor cared when, their hands found the other and their fingers wove together.


	6. Heart of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this exploded from something quirky into something angsty and somewhat cheesy. Enjoy anyway! :D

It started with Billy.

The young, recovering addict had trudged into Sherlock’s flat carrying a box and dropped it onto the table beside the microscope Sherlock was currently staring intently into.

‘Fresh slides from the missus. She wanted me to remind ya to properly dispose of the samples when you’s done and return the slides clean and polished.’

Sherlock froze and furrowed his brow. _Missus?_

But the thought dissipated when he glanced in the box. A smile like that of a child on Christmas morning broke over his face as he whipped out the first white box of slides, a black label across the top branding it **Derma Samples, Female Aged 56, COD: Fatal reaction to bee sting**

‘Brilliant!’ Sherlock exclaimed and immediately brushed aside his old slides.

‘Laterz, Shezz,’ Billy called to the detective’s back as he trudged back down the stairs. Sherlock completely ignored him, too lost in the wonder of his new experiment.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, that slip of Billy’s tongue came back around to hover at the edges of his mind. He was babysitting the Watson spawn and the little tot was insistently refusing to take her nap, despite obviously being utterly exhausted from their adventures around London that morning.

‘But Unca Sh’lock, m’not tired!’ Amalia pouted, sticking her bottom lip out and making her baby blue eyes as wide as possible.

Sherlock looked down at her from his perch on the side of his bed, which she had commandeered for her nap. ‘Yes, you are. Now, lie down, close your eyes, and sleep. Then when you wake up, we can go for ice cream.’ Best load her up on sugar _just before_ John came by to pick her up, Sherlock sniggered to himself.

Amalia considered it for a moment and wisely agreed. Snuggling down under the covers, she patted the spot next to her. Sherlock smiled fondly and stretched out beside her on his back, steepling his hands under his chin.

They laid in silence for a time and even Sherlock couldn’t resist the pull of sleep.

Just as he was nodding off, Amalia whispered, ‘Unca Sh’lock?’

Sherlock peeked at her from the corner of his eye. ‘Yes?’

Her eyelids were getting heavier and she was fast succumbing to sleep. She yawned and scooched closer to him, resting her blonde head against his shoulder and mumbling softly, ‘When you get mawwied, can I be the flowery girl?’

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked down at her in confusion.

‘I… suppose?’

Amalia smiled and immediately dropped off to sleep, her mouth parted as she snored lightly.

_Married? What makes her think I’m going to get married?_

The memory of Billy calling someone his _missus_ echoed in the back of his mind.

Sherlock would have thought more on this, but sleep soon claimed him as well. And when he and Amalia woke from their naps and went looking for ice cream, the question was quite forgotten for a time.

* * *

**One Week Later**

‘Oh, Sherlock,’ Mrs Hudson tsked, carefully winding her way through the chaos of his flat. ‘You ought to take better care of this place. And you really should start putting some of this away.’ She started gathering the many cups and saucers lying about.

Sherlock turned from the wall, where he’d pinned everything he needed to know about this case, and frowned at her. ‘Why should I put it away? Everything is where I need it to be. And what isn’t… well, you are more than happy to take care of it for me.’ He raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the cups in her hands before turning back to his case.

‘It still would be nice for you to make some room. A woman likes to add personal touches, after all!’

Sherlock leaned forward and pinned a string leading from the MP to the victim. _Ah, yes! That makes sense!_

Whipping his phone out of his pocket, he typed a message to Lestrade and had just pressed send when Mrs Hudson’s words sunk in.

_Woman? What woman?_

‘Who-?’ He turned around only to find Mrs Hudson had gone, leaving a sink full of his dirty cups.

His phone beeped.

_Care to be there when we make the arrest? G_

Sherlock grinned. Oh, absolutely! Taking down someone this high up? It was Christmas!

Flying down the stairs, he shouted a goodbye to Mrs Hudson.

* * *

Sitting in his leather chair, Sherlock stared across the room at Mary in complete confusion. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you said ‘double date.’’

Mary smiled, bemused. ‘I did! Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve been on one. I mean, John and I have couple friends, but whenever we try to do something with them, you inevitably call John, or even both of us, away! But if you’re _on_ the date with us, we may actually make it to the end!’

‘I understand your reasoning, Mary,’ Sherlock said slowly, as though to a child. ‘But wouldn’t a double date need 2 couples, a total of 4 people?’

‘Yes,’ Molly rolled her eyes. ‘So glad you haven’t deleted basic math yet.’

Sherlock scrunched his nose up at her joke. ‘Yes, yes, very funny. But I think you need to count again. Though I have the IQ twice that of the average man, I unfortunately cannot make myself into 2 people.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

Sherlock looked at her carefully. She honestly didn’t see why he was confused? ‘Who would I be bringing on this double date, Mary?’

‘Your girlfriend, of course!’ She playfully shoved him. ‘Or do you not like that term? How about partner? Lover? Friend with _delightful_ benefits?’ She winked cheekily.

Sherlock gaped at her. His what?! He wasn’t dating, sleeping with, or seeing anyone in any romantic way whatsoever! What made her think-?

_Oh, she’s still talking. Did she say who it was? Shit!_

‘-around 7 o’clock, if that works for you two. Thursdays are John’s day off from the clinic, so I thought it would be a nice evening to go out, when it’s not too busy with the weekend rush.’

‘Mary, I think there’s been-’

Just then, her phone went off and she scrambled for it. Glancing at the text, she started gathering her bag. ‘That was John, apparently he’s going to be late and I’ll need to pick up Amalia from school.’

Sherlock stood to see her to the door, fully intending to clear up this misunderstanding before she left. But Mary was in a rush and hurried out the door, calling over her shoulder. ‘Don’t forget, Angelo’s, Thursday at 7! See you there!’

* * *

The penny finally dropped. And when it did, oh was it a disaster.

Waiting for test results to determine the genetic connection of the victim to the killer, Sherlock was busy nosing about the lab compiling a mental list of future experiments to conduct.

Greg leaned against the table, his arms crossed, watching with barely concealed impatience as Molly started the program.

‘It will be another ten or so minutes. Coffee?’ She looked to both of them expectantly.

Sherlock grunted a yes.

‘That would be lovely, Molls.’ Greg rubbed a hand over his face and offered her a weak smile. It had been a long case and all he wanted was justification to run the bastard in and then crash for 48 hours.

‘Two coffees coming up!’

The door swung shut behind her as she headed to the canteen, leaving the men in silence.

‘So,’ the DI drawled. ‘Trouble in paradise?’

Sherlock froze, his nose buried in the cupboard of samples. Slowly, he turned around. ‘What are you talking about?’

Lestrade jerked his head toward where Molly had gone. ‘You and the missus. You’re being a bit of a bastard to her today.’

_Missus. Molly. Oh. Good. God._

‘You think Molly and I are... _together?_ ’ He asked incredulously.

Lestrade frowned. ‘Yeah. I mean, aren’t you?’

_‘No!’_

Rubbing his neck, Lestrade looked at him dubiously. ‘Really? Cause most everyone thinks you are.’

‘Well, we’re not!’ Sherlock snapped.

‘All right, mate.’ Lestrade held his hands up. ‘Didn’t mean anything by it. Just a misunderstanding.’

‘Misunderstanding? You call yourself a Detective Inspector and yet you believed _Molly_ and I were a couple? Good God, it’s a wonder London doesn’t crumble!’

‘Oi! Look,’ Lestrade scowled and jabbed his finger at Sherlock. ‘Molly Hooper is sweet and kind, and for God knows what reason, she’s in love with you.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Imagine, the woman with a heart of gold loving the man who insists he doesn’t even have one.’

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but Lestrade kept on ranting.

‘And you want to know why everyone thinks you’re a couple? Because you bloody well _act_ like it! You bring her gourmet coffees, take her to dinner at least twice a week, you even hold the bloody door open for her then let it slam shut in the next person’s face! You love her and she loves you. That’s all the evidence we needed to make a logical _deduction_. Now, you either fess up to the feelings _I know_ you have, or you leave her to move on with her life.’

_'Enough!’_ Sherlock bellowed. Lestrade had effectively riled up the taller man and he was not going to be lectured on love by the divorced man who kept going back to the same woman! Stalking across the room, he crowded Lestrade, who held his ground with the stance of a soldier. ‘Listen, you and your idiotic friends need to get something through your thick skulls. Molly Hooper is _not_ my girlfriend. She is not my lover, partner, friend, or anything that contends that we have a relationship beyond this laboratory. She is an acquaintance, an asset to my work, at best. Replaceable when her usefulness has come to an end. And that is _it!_ I am tired of the insinuation that I am or _ever_ will be emotionally entangled with her. She is the last person I would fall in love with, if I even were so inclined!’

With that, Sherlock spun around to leave only to see, standing in the doorway, a pale, trembling Molly.

His heart stopped and his mouth ran dry. _How long had she been standing there?_

Swallowing, she took a steadying breath and walked over to hand Lestrade his coffee. ‘Your coffee, Greg.’

Sherlock braced himself for tears when she turned toward him. But instead of trembling lips and tear-filled eyes, Molly was practically vibrating with rage.

‘Your coffee, Mr Holmes,’ she said evenly. He hesitantly took the cup, half-afraid she was going to throw it in his face. She took one step back, lifted her chin, and in a voice as cold as he’s ever heard from her demanded, ‘Now leave. You are no longer welcome in my laboratory, nor in my company.’

‘Molly, I-’

‘ _Now_ , Mr Holmes. Or shall I call security?’ Her once warm brown eyes were cold daggers, piercing his heart.

He looked over to Lestrade for help, but the silver-haired man just shook his head, disappointment and anger radiating off of him.

‘Fine. _Fine!_ ’ He snapped. Snagging his coat, he jammed his arms in and grabbed his scarf. ‘So long, Molly Hooper.’

Infuriatingly, she said nothing. But instead of the good feeling that usually came from having the last word, Sherlock stormed out of the lab feeling defeated.

_Damn it all!_

* * *

Sherlock snorted awake. Something was off.

He sniffed. Aramis. With an underlying scent of chocolate pastries and regret…

_Mycroft._

‘Rise and shine, brother mine. Time to smack some sense into that thick skull of yours.’

‘Uuuuuurgh….’ Sherlock rolled over and opened his gritty eyes. Mycroft leaned over him, a smirk on his face.

‘Up and at ‘em, William.’

_Good Lord, he’s turning into Mummy._

‘G’way,’ Sherlock mumbled and covered his head with the blanket.

Suddenly, it was yanked away and the cool morning air made him yelp in surprise.

‘Enough is enough, Sherlock.’ Gone was the light-hearted teasing. Mycroft grabbed Sherlock by the arm and yanked him out of bed. On any other day, Sherlock would be able to overpower his brother (not by much). But exhausted, depressed, and completely listless, he barely resisted as Mycroft dragged him out into the lounge of 221b and nearly threw him into the black leather chair.

‘Sit. You’re going to listen for once in your goddamn life.’ Mycroft took John’s chair and leaned forward on his knees. ‘I suppose I should have anticipated this. I knew the dynamic between you and Dr Hooper was changing and I thought you were aware of it. Had I realised you were not, I would have been able to protect Dr Hooper from your thoughtless words.’

Sherlock lolled his head back.

‘Now, this is what you’re going to do.’

There was a pause and Sherlock waited with bated breath for his instructions (as if). Suddenly a throw pillow smacked him across the face.

‘Oi!’ He exclaimed. Mycroft stood over him, weapon in hand, and scowl on his face.

‘You are going to accept the fact that you love her. Accept her love. Grovel. Court the woman. Marry her. Have numerous grandchildren for Mummy. And. Be. Happy!’

* * *

Flowers in hand, Sherlock tugged his suit coat straight, cleared his throat and knocked on the door. Seven seconds passed before he heard movement on the other side. He held his breath and put on his best puppy dog expression, knowing Molly would check her peephole.

‘Go away, Mr Holmes.’

The cold tone did not bode well for him.

‘Molly, may I please speak with you?’

‘Absolutely not!’

He lifted the bouquet of lilies. ‘I brought you flowers.’

‘Waste of your money!’

‘Not really, considering I swiped them from the florist down the street.’ He chuckled.

‘Sherlock!’

He sobered quickly. She didn’t seem to be melting into a puddle by his romantic overtures. If anything, she sounded angrier.

‘Molly, please open the door so we can talk!’

‘I think I’ve heard quite enough from you and I frankly do not have the time to tell you _exactly_ what I think of you! Short version: you’re an _arse_! Now go away!’

By now, Molly’s neighbours had begun peering out into the hallway. Their unabashed staring only served to annoy Sherlock, who shot them deadly glares. This wasn’t going at all how it was supposed to.

Leaning close to the door and lowering his voice, he said, ‘Molly, please. I cannot apologise enough for what I said, but I would like to try. And I prefer doing it face-to-face.’

There was a pause. Then the lock snapped back and the door swung in, to Sherlock’s great relief (and increasing nervousness).

Molly stared up at him, five-foot-three-inches of anger and hurt. Her big brown eyes took in his rumpled appearance and for a moment a furrow of concern marred her brow. Her face was pale and she had clearly not slept well for the past three days (well, they were on equal footing there). Her hair was down and she wore comfortable sweats and a garish sweater with kittens all over the front.

She’d never looked more unkempt. But to Sherlock, seeing her now with the eyes of a man who had accepted that his heart belonged to her, she was beautiful.

‘Well?’ She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Not knowing what to say now that she was in front of him, Sherlock thrust the flowers forward and shuffled back and forth on his feet.

With a suspicious look, Molly accepted the flowers. She softly sniffed the petals and said, with a tinge of awe, ‘You remembered my favourite.’

‘Of course I did. I remember everything about you.’

She blinked in surprise. ‘You do?’

He nodded. ‘May I come in now?’

Biting her lip, she contemplated him for a moment, then acquiesced with a sigh and stepped back to let him in.

When she had shut the door and turned to face him, Sherlock launched into his apology.

‘I am sorry that my thoughtless words hurt you. Looking back, I see that I was frustrated with the assumptions everyone seemed to be carrying around that I was romantically involved with someone. And then when I realised that _you_ were the person I was thought to be associated with, I…’ He trailed off, noting the devastated look on Molly’s face. _Stop making this worse!_   Taking a deep breath, he blurted out loudly, ‘Molly, everything I said that day was a lie.’

Molly blinked in surprise.

Unable to stand still, Sherlock began pacing back and forth. ‘You are irreplaceable. As my pathologist and as my friend. And I do consider you my friend… one of my only friends and I can give no explanation for what I said other than I am an arse. An arse who panicked when faced with a revelation of feelings I didn’t know I had.’

‘Oh?’ Molly breathed faintly. Sherlock stopped pacing and stepped toward her.

‘I’m not heartless after all, Molly.’ He placed his hand over his heart and felt it racing. ‘And I’ve been too stubborn to realise that it’s belonged to you all along.’

Her eyes widened.

‘Please… forgive me.’

Molly bit her lip and looked down in thought. The silence stretched between them and Sherlock feared after a full minute that Molly had stopped breathing. Nerves twisted his stomach and he cleared his throat.

‘Is…is there nothing I can do to earn your forgiveness?’

‘A kiss certainly wouldn’t hurt,’ she mumbled. Her head was down and she fiddled distractedly with the ribbon binding the flower stems, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Relief rushed over Sherlock and he lifted her chin up with a finger, enjoying the twinkle of mirth in her eyes as he teased, ‘If I must.’

Before she could protest his cheek, he swooped down and claimed her lips in a toe-curling kiss. Dropping the flowers to the ground, she held onto his shoulders for dear life.

Why had he denied himself this for so long? Kissing Molly was like the rush of solving a 10, a triple-murder with a note, and Mycroft ruining his diet all at once.

By the time they broke for air, he’d lifted her off her feet and knew he’d never tire of her kiss-swollen lips, blushing cheeks, and glowing eyes that looked at him with unfettered love.

How he’d earned the heart of gold of an angel, he’d never know. But he would never again take it for granted.


	7. A Gold Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Miscarriage
> 
> Because this is such a heavy chapter, I'm giving you two today! The next one will be much happier, without a single drop of angst, I promise! :) 

It was the calm after the storm.

After all the noise, chaos, screeching tyres, burning rubber… the silence was crushing as reality settled and shock faded.

It was to this quiet, solemn world that Molly slowly woke. Her entire body ached and the acrid smell of hospital filled her nose. The beeping of a heart monitor grew louder as the fringes of sleep dissipated.

She noticed an odd pressure along her right side and she turned her head to find her husband curled around her on the hospital bed. Sherlock's legs were dangling over the side and even in sleep, he was careful not to touch her. His curls were completely frizzed and dark circles marred his beautiful face.

Molly lifted her hand to reach over and touch his face, but didn't have the energy. Instead, as had become second-nature the past four months, she let her hand fall to rest on her stomach.

Her heart stopped.

Instead of the small, but firm, bump, her stomach was lower, soft, and covered in bandages.

_No no no no no..._

Tears of panic filled her eyes and the heart rate monitor kicked up in answer to her racing heart.

Her hand spasmed against the thin bedsheet and she clenched the fabric.

_This wasn't happening, it was just a mistake, the shock messing with her mind…_

'Molly?'

The beloved voice, hoarse and rough, pierced through the panic. She turned to look at Sherlock and seeing the sorrow in his own eyes brought reality crashing down around her.

'No,' she whispered, a tear escaping.

His lips trembled as he gently slipped his arm under her and pulled her against his chest. She buried her face in his chest and her mouth opened in a silent cry, the pain of their loss greater than the aches in her body. Sherlock's body shook and he covered his mouth with his free hand as his tears gave way to sobs.

* * *

**Two years later**

Sherlock took the stairs up to 221B two at a time. His heart was racing from the single, vague text Molly had sent him twenty minutes earlier.

**Please come home.**

His replies had gone unanswered and she wouldn't pick up when he called as he raced home from his Sunday afternoon jousting game with Mycroft.

'Molly?' He burst into the lounge, panting. There was no sign of a struggle, no sign of danger, nothing indicating anything was wrong.

He ran through the empty kitchen and into their bedroom. The bathroom door was open and as he rounded the bed, he saw Molly leaning against the tub, her arms around her legs and her head buried in her knees.

'Molly!' He rushed to her side and knelt beside her, looking her over for injuries. 'Molly, what's happened?'

Slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were red and wet, her face a ghastly pale. Leaning to her other side, she picked something off the floor. She sniffled and held it in front of her.

Sherlock's heart nearly stopped.

A pregnancy test.

'I'm pregnant,' she whispered.

Sherlock stared at the blue cross, then slumped against the tub in disbelief. 'You're pregnant…'

Her lips trembled as she brushed the tears from her cheeks. 'I just felt a bit off lately. I didn't think…'

Sherlock couldn't speak.

'We never discussed trying for another…' She was beginning to panic, her breath coming in rapid gasps. 'I don't think I'm ready for this again...' Her broken whisper tore his heart in two.

'Come here,' he said soothingly and, stretching his legs out, he pulled her into the circle of his embrace and wrapped his arms around her middle. She trembled as he rested his head atop hers, taking deep breaths, so his chest pressed against her back.

Her trembling gradually slowed and her breathing synced with his. Her hand reached up to clutch the pendant resting on her chest, a gold Gladiolus flower. He'd given it to her a few months after the accident. They were both in the deepest depth of mourning, unsure of how to move on; not wanting to live in the what-ifs but not wanting to forget what they had lost. When Sherlock had given Molly the pendant, he had held her close and whispered its meaning in her ear.

_Remembrance_.

That night had been the first step for both of them to begin healing.

And now they were expecting again. After everything, he hadn't considered another baby. Fear and joy wrestled in his heart and he was torn. But Molly needed him to be her rock. He could see the hesitant happiness in how she absentmindedly stroked her stomach.

'This baby can't replace the one we lost…' Sherlock's voice broke and he paused for a moment, tears filling his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat and continued. 'And I will never expect him to.'

Molly sniffled and there was the hint of a smile in her voice as she said, ' _Him?_ '

'Or her,' Sherlock amended softly.

Molly's hand drifted over the flower and she leaned her head back against his shoulder.

'But I will love him, or her, just as much.' He whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

'Yeah?'

He kissed her temple and smiled. 'Yeah.'

Tears of happiness filled her eyes and she tilted her head back to look at him. 'We're having a baby.'

Cupping her cheek, Sherlock kissed her tenderly. 'Yes, we are.'


	8. Golden Sands

Endless blue skies. Shimmering sea waves cresting and foaming. Miles of golden sand stretching from east to west as far as could be seen. Palm trees lined the beach, their leaves rustling calmly in the sea breeze.

It was paradise.

Well, almost.

The sound of the bungalow door shutting made him open his eyes. He lifted his head up and smiled. From his place lounging in the hammock, he watched her approach. Her brown hair hung loose and she practically glowed. Her bright yellow bikini and sarong hugged all the right places of her tanned body. Her feet slid in the sand, causing her hips to sway more than usual (not that he was complaining).

‘Hey, you,’ she greeted him with a smile. His answering smile was cheeky and he pulled her down onto the hammock with him.

She laughed in surprise and he pulled her against his bare chest. Their legs tangled together and he kept the hammock swinging gently with one foot.

‘Mmm,’ she sighed happily and rested her head on his shoulder, letting her hand linger on his tanned chest. ‘I could stay here forever.’

‘Yeah?’

She tilted her face up and narrowed her eyes at his less-than-casual tone. ‘Sherlock, we can’t hide away here forever.’

He pouted. ‘I don’t see why not? Just you and me. No one around for miles. No need for clothes…’ He waggled his eyebrows and playfully tugged on the string holding her bikini top together.

‘Mmm, later, lover boy,’ she teased. He screwed his face in disgust at the nickname, earning him a pacifying (and bordering indecent) kiss.

Breathless, and more than a little wound up, Molly pulled back and snuggled back into his side. ‘We have to face the music eventually.’

‘Ugh, they’re going to be insufferable,’ he whinged. ‘Lectures, head slaps from Mummy, and they’re going to insist on throwing us an elaborate party. With _people_.’

‘You’re regretting this?’

He felt her pull away and locked his arms around her. Her brown eyes sparkled with mirth and he relaxed. _Good, I’d hate to be screwing this up already._ He brushed his nose against hers. ‘Absolutely not. But you know how I despise parties.’

‘Well, it’s too late now.’ She walked her fingers up his chest. ‘We could have stayed in London and done it the usual way: dates, engagement, all that planning for a _huge_ party with flowers and string quartets and dancing and _mobs_ of family, friends, and reporters.’ She pulled his head down for a deep kiss. ‘But _someone_ decided to be romantic and declare his love, then immediately whisk me off to the Caribbean for a quickie wedding.’

‘Shut up, you loved it.’ He growled playfully. ‘In retrospect, eloping may have saved us from a big wedding neither of us wanted, but I don’t think we considered the full ramifications.’ He dropped his head back and moaned pitifully. ‘I shall have to see every West End musical at least ten times… until the day I die. Not to mention the nagging about grandchildren! And John will be beside himself, lecturing me about treating you well and… dear _god,_ he’s going to give me the talk about the birds and the bees, isn’t he?!’

Molly laughed at his horrified expression. ‘Oh, yeah.’

Sherlock groaned and dropped his forehead against hers in defeat.

Biting her lip, Molly looked up at him and felt her heart overflow.

‘Come on, hubby.’ She untangled herself from his arms and stood up. Turning, she grabbed his hands and began tugging him toward the bungalow. His eyes darkened as she huskily said, ‘Let me at least make all that worth your while.’


	9. Silence is Golden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final ficlet! Thank you all so much, it's been a blast getting back into the Sherlolly scene! I'll be back around sometime, probably to do another fic-week (this was so much fun!) :)
> 
> And a special shout-out to buttercup59! Thank you so much for looking over all my stories and giving me the inspiration for the ending of this fic! Love you!

She'd been trying to read the same page for nearly ten minutes.

_Ringalingalingaling!_

'No, Sherlock,' Molly said without looking up from the book.

_Ringalingalingalingalingalingaling!_

Turning the page, Molly shook her head.

**_RINGALINGALINGALINGALINGALINGALING!_ **

Snapping the book closed, Molly huffed and glared over at the Consulting Detective.

He sat cross-legged in his leather chair, hair a complete disaster, in day-old pyjamas. And he wore a delightful scowl on his pale face. In one hand he held that damned bell and in the other a whiteboard on which was written a simple demand.

**I want ice cream.**

'No. You just had some an hour ago.'

The Consulting Detective sulked and angrily wiped the board. Pulling the top of the marker off with his teeth, he began writing again.

The high tinkle of the bell roused Molly from her reading and she looked over. Sherlock held out his white-board with one hand and continued to ring his handheld bell frantically with the other.

**ICE CREAM!**

'No! And stop ringing that bell or I'll start 'ringing' your neck! I will _kill_ John for giving it to you.' Tossing her book onto the coffee table, she jumped up and stalked into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Three seconds of blessed silence followed. Then a riotous outburst of ringing filled the flat.

Incredulous, she whipped around. Sherlock glared at her and kept ringing that _damned_ bell. (Oh, if his throat wasn't in such bad shape, she'd shove the thing down it!)

Storming over, she made to grab the bell, but Sherlock held it out of her reach. Every time she tried to take it, he switched hands.

'Sherlock Holmes, give it to me!' She demanded. He stubbornly shook his head. Hands on hips, she glared down at him.

He stuck his tongue out at her and, before she could snatch it away, he shoved it under his bum.

She raised her eyebrow. 'You can be such a child.'

Biting off the cap of the pen, he scribbled something on the whiteboard.

**But you love me anyway. ;)**

Molly's heart melted. Sherlock _loathed_ (and that was putting it lightly) any and all use of emojis. And to see it written there with his love, in his own hand, even being used as a ploy to get ice cream, broke her resolve.

Oh, he was good.

Rolling her eyes, Molly sighed and threw her hands out in defeat. 'Mmm, God help me, I do.'

Sherlock smirked triumphantly. Molly narrowed her eyes and leaned down, her intent clear. He perked up and lifted his lips expectantly...

...only for Molly's lips to land in the centre of his brow. A croaky sound of protest broke out of his throat and he pouted.

'I really, really do.' She smirked and straightened. 'What flavour would you like, love?'

**Vanilla.**

She quirked an eyebrow and he bent over the whiteboard again.

**Please.**

Sauntering into the kitchen, Molly quickly scooped out a bowl full of the confection. When she returned to the lounge, Sherlock was watching her with a smile and holding his whiteboard against his chest.

Molly held out the ice cream expectantly, but Sherlock just stared at her. 'What?' She giggled self-consciously.

His smile deepened and he slowly turned the board around.

**I love you, too.**

Molly's heart started beating fast as she began to read the second line he'd written underneath that.

**Will you marry me?**

The bowl of ice cream dropped from her hands and Sherlock lunged forward to catch it.

'Really?' Molly asked, her voice pitched high in disbelief.

Sherlock rolled his eyes fondly and nodded. He set down the ice cream bowl, and from his dressing gown's pocket, he pulled out a vintage diamond ring. He raised his eyebrows expectantly as she caught a glimmer of uncertainty in his expression.

'Yes,' she said, a smile breaking over her face. 'Yes, yes, yes!' Nodding so hard, her head began to hurt, Molly threw herself at him. Sherlock raised his hands, holding the ring and board out of the way. Tears filled Molly's eyes as she covered his face with kisses, being careful to avoid his searching lips.

'You ask me this when I can't even properly kiss you?!' Molly sniffled and playfully slapped his chest. Sherlock awkwardly tried to write on the whiteboard while it sat precariously on the edge of the chair while Molly continued to attack him with affection.

**Make it up to me later then.**

It wasn't the promise he'd written, it was the wicked, smoldering look in his eyes that sent Molly's thoughts skittering in a very naughty direction and a blush spreading down into areas that were currently covered with inconvenient clothing.

He slipped the ring onto her finger and pressed her hand against his racing heart, his fingers slipping onto her pulse point. He grinned widely when he noted her heartbeat matched his.

Settling across his lap, Molly dangled her legs over the arm of the chair and began to feed him bits of ice cream. It was a couple thing they would both normally sneer at derisively (and they would leave out that part when telling this story in the future), but right now…

...it was perfect.


End file.
